


Ink and Scars

by CommonNonsense



Series: Overwatch Ficlets [12]
Category: Overwatch (Video Game)
Genre: Fluff, M/M, Tattoos
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-07-23
Updated: 2019-07-23
Packaged: 2020-07-12 05:44:42
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,543
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/19941166
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/CommonNonsense/pseuds/CommonNonsense
Summary: Hanzo's had the brand so long that he thinks little of it now, but perhaps it's time to do something about it.





	Ink and Scars

**Author's Note:**

> For a Tumblr prompt of "reminders." Leaning heavily on that fanon that the mark in Hanzo's Cyberninja skin is an old brand, and using a modified version of the tattoo in his Wave skin yes I know it's not perfectly accurate I had to make some changes

"Have you ever thought about gettin' this covered up?"

The words are the first either of them have spoken in some minutes as they lie in bed together, and it takes a moment for them to filter through Hanzo's drowsy mind. He blinks his eyes open. McCree's face swims into view, inches away on the next pillow, but McCree's gaze is somewhere else. It takes another second for Hanzo to register McCree's fingertips on his shoulder, gently following the lines of the scar tissue there.

Hanzo's had the brand so long that he often forgets about it, the same way he forgets his tattoo or the clothes he is wearing that day. He still vividly recalls the day he received it, though--precisely ten days after Genji’s apparent death, when the clan had decided he had grieved for too long over a blight on the Shimada name and saw fit to remind him where his true loyalties should lie. He had accepted his punishment with numb resignation, steadfastly refused to make so much as a whimper as the brand seared his skin. That had been the day he decided that the clan would come to an end. 

“No,” he says. “It had never occurred to me.”

“Really? You never wanted it gone?” McCree’s face is mostly passive, but there is a faint crinkle between his brows that Hanzo finds confusing.

“It is not that I  _ want  _ it there. I simply forget about it most days. It is a part of my body like anything else, and I forget about it unless something reminds me.”

McCree looks guilty at that, and he takes back his hand, leaving a cold space on Hanzo’s bicep. “Sorry.”

“Do not be.” McCree still does not look mollified. “Does it bother you?”

“‘Course it does. That thing’s just a mark of ownership. Them actin’ like they  _ owned _ you.” McCree’s mouth presses into an unhappy line. “But you’re your own man. You haven’t been a part of that in so long. Just seems like an unnecessary reminder. So no, I don’t much like thinkin’ about that.”

Hanzo stares, surprised at McCree’s response. McCree shifts uncomfortably and finally sits up, ruffling his hair with one hand. 

“Sorry,” he says again. “Not about me, I know. Just had it on my mind a bit lately." Hanzo makes a questioning noise, and McCree continues, albeit with some reluctance, "I dunno, I've just been thinkin' about—how good we got it, I guess. How we got here. And especially you, doing so much in the last year or two. And then there's that thing."

Hanzo props himself on his elbows, shifting until he can look down at the old scar. “I do not care for it,” he admits. “But I suppose I never thought it could be removed. It is something that happened, and that is simply how it is.” Endless, like the two dragons chasing each other in a perpetual cycle. "And I suppose I . . . I do not miss my family, or hold any love for this mark. I am not sure what makes me hesitate."

"It's familiar."

Hanzo blinks. "Yes," he says quietly. "I suppose that is the word for it."

“Makes sense. Kinda felt the same way about my old gang tattoo. I did think about getting it removed or covered up here and there, and didn’t." He taps his metal left forearm with a finger, smiling wryly. “Got taken care of a different way, anyway.”

Hanzo nods absently. It is a moment before he speaks again. “I am not sure how I would do it, now. It’s far too old for most treatments, and others would just leave a different kind of scar, even with biotics.”

“True.” McCree reaches out and runs his thumb over the scar again, making Hanzo shiver. “What about a tat?”

“You think it could be covered with a tattoo?”

“Maybe. The skin’s not too wrecked. Could make it at least less noticeable, either way.” McCree worries the inside of his lip. “Don’t do somethin’ just because I don’t like it. If you really don’t want to do something—” 

Hanzo gives a smile and a shake of his head, covering McCree’s hand with his own over his arm. “It is fine,” he promises. “You are right. I am well overdue to get rid of this thing, and an unapproved tattoo would make my family turn in their graves. Do you have any suggestions?”

McCree smiles and threads his fingers through Hanzo’s. “That depends. Anything you’ve wanted to get before?”

—

It takes Hanzo some time to decide. Over the next few weeks, he spends his time researching. He is not a prolific artist, but he is capable enough to put together a few sketches that are recognizable enough to show McCree. McCree, for his part, helps look up local tattoo artists and offers his suggestions when asked, but seems to make a point not to interfere too much. 

He goes to Genji near the end of the process with a couple of designs, looking for input before he takes it to the artist. Genji is politely interested, at first, until Hanzo confesses the exact reason why he is getting the new tattoo; after that, he goes strangely silent for a long moment. 

“I’m glad,” he finally says, his voice sounding tight even behind the mask. It makes Hanzo’s throat feel tight, too. Genji clears his throat and adds, “Although I am not sure this is extreme enough. You need something that would make our father die of shame if he saw it. Maybe some egregiously misspelled English. Or a topless woman.”

Hanzo snorts and snatches the sketches back. “The point is to cover it with something  _ better,"  _ he reminds him.

“Who says it wouldn’t be?"

Hanzo swats him with the papers.

The artist he ultimately hires isn’t in Gibraltar, but out in Valencia. They have an impressive portfolio, and when Hanzo contacts them with his ideas and the situation, immediately has suggestions. A bit of back-and-forth over email and they have a final design within a couple of weeks, and an opening for a daytime session at the end of the month. Hanzo feels uncharacteristically giddy as he confirms the appointment.

It takes little effort to convince McCree to join him, and together they take off half of a week and take the train out to Valencia. They meet the artist the next day, and it isn’t until they have finished transferring the design to Hanzo’s skin that he feels the first flutter of nerves. 

“Well, here’s that,” the artist says. “If everything looks good, I think we can finish it in one session, as long as you tolerate it.”

Hanzo stares at the image in the mirror. The scar is already half-hidden under the outlines of the transferred design, difficult to distinguish under the curved lines of the koi's body, broken up by the arcs of ocean waves and the delicate twists of lotus petals. A knot loosens in his chest that he hadn't been aware still existed, unraveling and drifting apart.

The artist steps away to grab the last of their supplies. McCree gives Hanzo's wrist a gentle squeeze as he leansin. "Think I'm gonna step out for a sec," he murmurs. "Grab us something to eat before we're here for the next seven h—"

Hanzo gets his free hand around the back of McCree's neck and pulls him down and into a kiss. It's not the most graceful and McCree makes a surprised noise against his mouth, but he still melts into it all the same

"Thank you," Hanzo murmurs when they part.

McCree blinks at him slowly, heavy-lidded and a little dazed. He manages to give a crooked smile. "It's just lunch, honeybee," he says, but they both know he understood just fine.

—

The plastic wrap and red, angry skin surrounding it make it hard to take a photo of the finished product. Hanzo tries for several minutes and even enlists McCree's help, but eventually has to give up. Thanks to the advancements in medicine and convenient over-the-counter topicals, the whole thing will heal much faster than his sleeve did all those years ago--he can wait a couple of days. 

The old Shimada brand is barely visible now, well obscured under the dark green-blue of the waves and the gradients of the koi's scales. He can still feel it if he runs his fingers over the plastic, but otherwise, it might as well not be there at all.

"They did a real good job," McCree says, stepping up behind Hanzo at the bathroom mirror. He wraps his arms around Hanzo's middle and drops his chin on his shoulder, looking at their shared reflection.

"Yes," Hanzo agrees. "I'm very happy with the work."

"How's it feel gettin' that covered up?"

Hanzo studies their shared reflection for a long moment. His eye inevitably drifts back to the new tattoo: a mask to hide the last of his disastrous past, but a memorial in its own right. Not only a symbol of growth, but also a reminder of the one who brought him here and the happiness he feels in this moment. 

He smiles and leans back into McCree's warm, solid chest. "It feels good."


End file.
